The school had been divided into two teams: red (them) and blue (us). There were six grades (seventh through twelfth) with fifty kids in each. But now the school administration had to assess the entire first-year class-and reassess all the returning students-at the same time. When I was inducted, it was the middle of the school year, so my SACSA had been a solo exam. It was our first day back at school for the fall semester, time for the annual Survival and Combat Skills Assessment. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable in the heat of battle, be it real or pretend. Thus, I’d seen far more action than most of my fellow students. Since then, however, I’d twice been involved in thwarting the plots of SPYDER, a secretive subversive organization dedicated to causing chaos and mayhem. I was only thirteen, and until seven months earlier, my entire espionage experience had consisted of watching James Bond movies. On the other hand, I came from a long line of grocers. Her grandfather Cyrus Hale was one of the best there’d ever been, and he’d taught Erica almost everything he knew. Most of her ancestors had been spies, going all the way back to Nathan Hale in the Revolutionary War. She’d practically been preparing for it since birth: Spying was her family business. Although she was only fifteen, she was easily the most talented spy-in-training at school. If there was anyone you wanted in your foxhole, it was Erica Hale. Five shots, each punctuated by the yelp of someone being hit squarely by a paint-filled projectile.Įrica took cover again, grinning. In one fluid movement, Erica sprang to her feet and fired her paintball gun over the lip of the foxhole. “How many of them are there?” Erica asked. “Some of them are pretty big twelve-year-olds,” I said defensively. Our weapons were only paintball guns, and the battlefield was a mock-up on the academy firing range. We were in the midst of our traditional Survival and Combat Skills Assessment exam at the CIA’s Academy of Espionage. And the war around us was merely a combat simulation. “They’re twelve years old,” Erica said flatly. “They’re going to be here any second!” I exclaimed. “Ben, take it easy.” Erica calmly tucked the magazine into her knapsack. They ambushed me as I was nearing the objective.…” “There’s a horde of enemy agents right behind me,” I panted. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever met, as well as the smartest, the most athletic, and the deadliest. Then again, Erica would have looked stylish in a potato sack. Like me, she was wearing camouflage gear, but somehow she looked stylish in hers. Erica Hale sat inside, leaning against the dirt wall, casually leafing through a Guns & Ammo magazine despite all the chaos around her. Instead, she sounded bizarrely relaxed, as though she were lounging in a hammock at a beach resort. “I’m ready.” She didn’t sound like she was in the heat of battle at all. I shouted into my radio headset, “Erica! I’m coming in hot!” To most people, it would have looked like just a big, grubby hole in the dirt, but to me, it was beautiful. Something screeched through the air high above and exploded in the distance. Translation: “Once we catch you, you’re dead meat.” I was dressed for combat, clad from head to toe in camouflage gear, but it obviously wasn’t working, because the enemy could see me perfectly well. They were all screaming too, although this was more of a war cry. I dodged through piles of dirt and debris, aware the agents were gaining on me. It’s a whole other thing to find yourself in the middle of one. It’s one thing to study action sequences. It was more of a sustained “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Which could be roughly translated as: “I’m in serious trouble. And so I had hoped that when the time came and I found myself in the thick of battle, I would be able to handle myself with cool, spy-like aplomb. I had read everything I could find on mortal combat. I had studied how to remain calm under pressure. I had spent a great deal of time preparing for this moment.
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